


Someday, maybe

by TwistedNym



Series: Some of us die young [10]
Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedNym/pseuds/TwistedNym
Summary: "He's gotta have someone who doesn't go away and ruins things." The words flow out of him with all the hurt and all the doubt. "He needs someone who's strong and steady and patient. I'm nothing like that. I just wanna take. I'm railroading him. If he doesn't wanna love me like I am pressuring him to, what should I do?"





	Someday, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Uploaded the draft instead of the finished version the first time D:

Opposite to all promises, they don't talk the next day. It's Saturday morning and there's little sounds moving down the hallway. Grey clouded lights are seeping through the curtains. Thomas doesn't want to know how late it is. Eyes half closed, he just clings to the warmth of another body.

Maven's head is still resting in the crook of his neck. Thomas remembers he wondered why it fit there so well the first time. With every little breath, air makes his skin shiver now, and from time to time the head moves, only a little, and the nose brushes over his pulse.

The pain is bad, but he doesn't complain. Not when he's warm and safe for now. It's a cocoon of blankets and pretending.

For the longest while he just holds to Maven, listening to his breaths, occasionally glancing over. He's never see him sleep before.

There's something soft to it, he's almost relaxed. Hidden underneath that is still a layer of friction, of someone being so uncomfortable with everything in the world he wants to freeze and hide. Around others, the pretending keeps coming. It's a little unsettling how good he can pretend he doesn't feel anything. Thomas mostly manages to see right through it, catching a glimpse. Other people, not so much.

Getting up is hard. Not only physical. When he finally makes it because he really needs to pee, Maven only stirs slightly.

He carefully limps over the hallway, checking the coast is clear. The last thing he needs is running into parents. Parents that are sure no fans to find a bruised and battered strange boy slipping out of their sons room. The colour of his blood indicates enough about his heritage to make it even worse.

When he finds his face in the mirror he doesn't see much resemblance to himself in that miserable creature.

Split lip and the black eyes , bruises and cuts spread over his face and arms, he can't believe nothing is broken. It feels like a car has run him over.

On the way back, he hangs his head out of the bathroom door, peeking through.

"They're not here." A voice behind him says. Thomas would jump if his legs weren't useless. When he gets out and turns around he finds Maven's brother with a cup in his hands. He notices a silver gleam and remembers Maven's bracelet. It's an exact duplicate. Thomas takes a moment to study his frame, finding differences and resemblances to the boy he loves. They share the black hair. But there's still that warmth seeping right out of Cal's pores, and he's holding himself up and with so much confidence he could very well be a king. Thomas remembers the hostility and bristling respect Maven showed the first time Thomas asked about him. And despite every closeness he's still reminded of that second. That there isn't a simple answer.

His brown eyes are very observant. Thomas remembers the day Cal pulled him aside. Strange but pleasant, making his head hurt.

"Dude, " he forces his voice to say. "You did it again, not cool. I almost lost it."

"Maven still asleep?"

Thomas looks back in the direction of the door. Thinking of someone curled up along his bruised spine leaves a yearning ache in his stomach. "Yeah. Think so."

He's lost in this talk. A part of him thinks Cal will just kick him out, but he's the reason Thomas got to stay in the first place. That's making him mighty uncomfortable.

He owes him.

His life, probably.

"Want some coffee?" There's something behind it. Boy, Thomas thinks, I am in again. This will end freaking strange. But he can't say no. And he's feeling to rough to start a fight. His everything is tumbling upside down. It makes him a little nauseous. Like he's motion sick.

"Why not." Thomas says, limping behind him, just following for once. He follows the red clad back. Through the rolled up sleeves he sees tiny scars on Cal's arms.

Cal leans against the counter and Thomas follows the example, relaxing his cramped back and trying not to brush against his bruises again.

"Thanks for yesterday. You saved my hide. And if you hadn't said anything..." Thomas can't look him in the face. They both know well enough what he wants to say.

Cal sighs and offers him a ceramic cup. "He's no good with feelings. He's never been. He used to hide as a child, we had to pry him out of closets and behind doors all the time. He was clinging to his mother's skirt when he had to be in public."

He takes the cup. It warms his fingers. He can still feel the biting cold. It has filled a void in him and made it a glacier.

"For a smart person he can be slow." Thomas adds and takes a sip of his coffee. It's black without his usual sugary disaster. It burns his tongue and is disgusting but he needs to be wide awake for whatever is happening next. "I'm not sure I am what he really needs. He's gotta have someone who doesn't go away and ruins things." The words flow out of him with all the hurt and all the doubt. "He needs someone who's strong and steady and patient. I'm nothing like that. I just wanna take. I'm railroading him. If he doesn't wanna love me like I am pressuring him to, what should I do?"

For a while Thomas is sure he has said too much. He's spilling it all out on a stranger. It's because he has no one left to confide. He's pushed them away and left them behind like a kid leaves toys scattered along the floor. He's a terrible person, isn't he?

"Look, it's none of my business. My brother cares about you. He's parading your drawings around like they are Van Gogh's. And he's not as lonely as he used to be. But if that's not what you want, you need to tell him. And don't just yell it at him. That's just making it worse."

Thomas takes a deep breath, holding the cup like a shield. "You know I yelled at him?"

Cal's bronze coloured eyes are very calm when he looks over at Thomas. "Oh yes, he's been insufferable the last week."

With another long breath Thomas sets the cup down. It clinks solemnly on the blank polished counter.

"I can't and I don't want to tell you what to do." Cal continues. "just sort it out. I know you have it tough. But this isn't doing any of you a favour. He doesn't know what's a relationship about."

Make it a clean cut, Elaras voice says, though Thomas knows that isn't what Cal means. It sticks with him like glue on his brain.

"You know what?" Thomas says. "You're a good brother. You care. I'm not."

"Not too late to change it." There's something infecting about that confidence. Thomas pulls his ruined face into a smile.

"Fair enough. Gotta do something about it."

When he returns to Maven's room he finds him half awake, staring at the door with an indecisive expression.

"You're still here." There's doubt lurking behind that words.

"Yeah." Thomas heaves himself on the bed next to him.

This is the moment to talk it out. The words are at the ready.

None of them says them.

"I need to talk to my family." Thomas says instead.

"That's good."

"Can I come back later?"

"If you want to."

* * *

He can't bring himself to knock. He's been standing there for minutes and cannot knock. His hand fidgets indecisive before he lowers it.

_Grow a pair, Thomas, just do it._

He bites his lip and gets through with it though he wants to run away.

_For once, do the right thing, idiot._

The door opens.

"Tommy," a voice says and he sees his mother in the doorway. His older sister is right behind her when she rushes forward, leaping two steps onto him.

He's speechless. There's pilled up hurt, accusations and pain between them. Questions he's not willing to answer.

His fathers eyes are watching closely. He doesn't rush, standing a few feet away. He doesn't say anything. Thomas knows he's probably still pissed about the last discussion they had.

He's told him everything in one long blurp.

_Yeah I am in trouble. I maybe go to jail. And yes, fuck me, I like guys, Dad._

_I don't understand you, Thomas. I really want to. But I can't. Why do you always feel the need to destroy everything? You never stop, and you can't appreciate what people try to do for you. Is this just to hurt us?_

"Hey" he just whispers, tongue heavy.

His mother is so warm and smells so familiar it hurts when she carefully pulls him into an embrace.

"Who did this, Tommy?" she asks, staring at his face in horror.

"This?" He takes some time to process that. "Got into a fight. It's just bruises, momma."

He feels like a child again with her fussing over a scraped knee.

She pulls him inside and he stumbles into his old home. It's feeling alien to be here again after such a long time apart. He sees the smears on the wall his sister has left, the chair he used to sit on, the window he used to stare out, wondering what's in store for him, waiting for his father's return from work.

"Your friend told you we talked?" his sister asks, more curious than judging. She's the best of the bunch. She was always better than him.

He nods and wants to vomit.

"That's good, Tommy, you need people to look out for you." She says and leans against the windowstill.

His father still proceeds to stare silent. He looks so sad. Thomas wishes he'd never had said a word.

"Yeah." He whispers. " Where's Ida?"

"Playing at the neighbors," his sister answers.

"Yeah, better this way, no need to freak her out."

His mother won't let go of him and it's wearing his tired discipline thin. If she doesn't stop, he'll start to cry.

"Tell her I love her." He whispers against his mothers long hazel hair, greyish on her temples.

"You could tell her yourself if you'd grow up and come home." It's the first words he's heard from his father in months. They are loud in the room and they pierce through his hazy mind.

"Dad, not now." His sister says.

"The boy just got injured." His mother finally let's go and jumps in his defence too.

He doesn't deserve it.

"Yes." His father crosses his arms. "He's homeless and in trouble. None of this would have happened if he had stayed home."

"If this is still about me being gay, Dad," Thomas forces himself to say through the fatigue. "Just let it go."

"This is about you running away and not even calling." His father growls. "You could have been dead for all we knew. Your mother was sick of worry. And all of that because you got a rebellious streak and eat that propaganda up. Uprising. Equal rights."

"I have friends like that. But I never-" Thomas starts but his father won't listen.

"You could have ended in prison, don't get it. That would have ruined your life. And instead of using the second chance you are wasting your time running around town like a stray dog." He creases his brow in an angry and worried line. "I'm not going to say anything about your… love life. If that friend of yours is really having your back he wouldn't have encouraged you to stay out."

"It's not like I would listen." Thomas says weak.

"And why is that?"

Thomas closes his eyes and wishes them all away.

Eventually, the conversation around him cools a little and his father leaves without another word, muttering something about being late to work. Stomping steps storming out, like a hurt animal.

His mother hugs him again. "Please come home, Tommy, we miss you. You don't have to stay. Just let us find a home for you."

"She's right. I want to move out anyway, Tommy. We could find something together."

Thomas feels overwhelmed. "Lemme think about it."

His sister presses his hand and smiles. "Sure."

He's tired to the bone when he returns to Maven's house. Now, talk it over, a voice urges him. He doesn't have the energy to go through with it.

He just curls together on his bed, and they listen to music, not talking at all.

Somewhere along the process, Maven reaches out and rests his hand on Thomas leg.

There's something frail, made out of glass in Thomas soul and it's breaking. He leans over and kisses Maven, bruised hands and bitten nails holding his face. He looks grotesque and sick in comparison, he's sure. He's not looking like they could fit. But to Thomas, to some part of him, it does just that. That part doesn't care about the fighting and the crying, the nights spent awake because there's anxiety, and sorrow. It's the part that remembers jokes and kisses and soft light warming two bodies.

His heart is utterly exhausted. His head hurts. Everything causes pain.

"I love you." He says. It's true. But it sounds weak.

"I know." Maven answers, his fingers are gliding very carefully about Thomas patched up face. "And I wish I- you deserve to hear it back without hesitation."

"I don't wanna talk. Not now, ok?" Thomas whispers, and plants another kiss along the corner of Maven's mouth.

They stay in bed the whole day, hands touching the other or just brushing, very careful. The touch never lasts long enough. Thomas soaks it into his soul like a plant does water on a hot summer day.

Occasionally one of them moves or leaves, but the other is never far away, just in reach of fingertips.

The hours are creeping by too fast. He can't stop it.

When they sleep in the same bed this night they are clinging tightly. Thomas arms is tugged around Mavens shoulder. His face is leaning on the usual spot on his neck, and he's breathing slow.

Thomas doesn't sleep for a long time.

"I'm going back to the Stilts." He says the next morning, sinking deep into the warmth of one of Maven's sweaters, not able to look him in the eyes.

"You're moving back in?"

"For a while." Thomas says shrugging. "My sister wants us to be roomies when she moves out."

There's uncomfortable silence, creeping through the words and into the heads.

"I don't know if I can handle this." He says, rubbing his eyes as if to stop tears that will never come.

"Your family will figure it out." Maven says.

"Not family, Mave." Thomas sighs. "Us. You and me. This whole…I need a break. Sort myself out. Get it together."

Maven stares at him very silent, almost frozen.

"A break." He repeats.

"Yeah I know, I am stupid and there's probably a way to work around it. Compromise or something. Talk it out. But I am not sure I can do it. I am not sure I am…" he desperately tried to find the right words. He never could." enough."

"Are you-" The thought seems to be stuck between Maven's teeth.

"I guess I am." Thomas scratches his chin. "Not for long. Just a few days."

"Funny." Maven says. There is nothing humorous in his voice or face. "You still just leave people you love."

"We all have our strengths, silver prince." Thomas looks away because he can't stand the sight of Maven's face anymore. There's a wounded crack running right through it.

"See you in a few days, " Maven whispers. "Thomas."

"Bye ,pretty boy." Thomas takes his time to turn around." I'll call you."

The words are ash and bile on his tongue. They are meaningless.

* * *

He drops by Farleys doorstep on the way back. He doesn't ring. Instead he slips a piece of paper in her mailbox.

_Sorry I'm a jerk._

He draws an exploding death star under it.

* * *

When Thomas takes a first step out of the train station and into the Stilts, he doesn't feel home at all. He feels like a visitor, a foreigner. He feels wrong in his own skin.

His mother opens the door. She doesn't say anything. She just smiles a little and lets him in. He drops almost dead, the small kitchen, sinking onto a creaking old wooden chair.

Everything is the same as the day he has left. Still nothing feels the same.

* * *

After a few days he makes his way to Whistle's pawnshop.

"Hey," he says when the doorbell rings and he steps in. His body functions on its own. His mouth moves without much effort.

"Got something for me?" Will asks, watching Thomas battered face.

"No. Actually," Thomas steps closer. "I'm back for good."

"Done with adventuring through town?"

"Yes. Done. With everything." Thomas takes a deep breath.

"And you wondered if I had work." Whistle says and clicks his tongue.

Thomas shrugs." Wondered if you could need a helping hand."

A few days get a few weeks and then it's months.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't drop by the house.

He doesn't go near the bench or the book store.

He just tells himself he moves on and hopes Maven can do the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Someday maybe ,  
> when we're old and gray,  
> we can be in love once more.


End file.
